


Returning Home

by FrankiValerie



Series: Lylathrel (WoW ship) [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Day of the Dead, Death Knight, F/F, Festival, Lovers, Silvermoon - Freeform, Sisters, Will we ever know?, ghostlands, hallows end, is loving a death knight necrophelia?, lost loved ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankiValerie/pseuds/FrankiValerie
Summary: A Death Knight, shamed by her past, returns home for the first time since breaking free of the Lich King's control.  She has a lot to answer for.  (Work in progress; will continue if there is interest).
Edit - 27.09.16 - added a little more to this since it seemed to be quite popular (compared to my other works at least).  Even more to come once I find a certain RP log which inspired this.Edit - 28.9.16 - I'm a little embarrassed that I only just noticed I had Ilthrel's name wrong half way through this.  Some re-shuffling in this last edit.
Edit 30.09.16 - another tiny edit! NOW it's finished.





	Returning Home

Lylawe Dawnsong stood in the Ruins of Lordaeron, watching people come and go.  She stuck to the shadows, watching through the slits of her helmet, her blue glowing eyes scanning the crowds.  Hallows End was over.  The Horseman had retired for another year.  Day of the Dead was here.  It was time she returned home to pay respects to her lost loved ones.  

She hadn’t returned home in years.  She’d left with Prince Kael’Thas Sunstrider and other followers, including her parents, on what they had thought was a righteous mission to Outland, to restore magic to the Sin’Dorei.  The Scourge had marched through their home, lead by Price Arthas Menithil, who had corrupted their Sunwell and risen an ancient necromancer.  The corruption was too much and the decision was made to destroy the Sunwell, severing their link to magic.  She had been so sure she was doing the right thing, as a Paladin, as a protector, and as a warrior of the Light, to help bring back the much needed magic, that she hadn’t cared about what she was leaving behind.  She thought it was a temporary absence.  That she’d return a hero.  Her twin sister refused to join them.  As did Ilthrel, her partner.  

She and Ilthrel had both been paladins, bathing in the light.  Lylawe had focused on Protection, training to be a guard, Ilthrel had focused on channeling the Holy Light to heal the sick and injured.  They’d been quite the team and their closeness had blossomed into an unlikely and wonderful physical relationship.  Lylawe felt the urge to cry at the memory of seeing Ilthrel crying, screaming, collapsing into Zyda’s arms as she walked out of their lives forever.  Though she no longer could cry.  

Kael’Thas led the Sin’Dorei to Outland, where Arthas had moved on too, and there they made an alliance with a high elf, Illidan Stormrage, who promised to restore the Sunwell.  They hadn’t cared that he was leading an army of demonic Illidari to the Frozen Throne, to beat Arthas there and destroy it before Arthas could become the new Lich King.  Kael’Thas had escaped when Arthas won but many of the Sin’Dorei, including Lylawe and her parents had perished in battle.  Lylawe had been risen by the new Lich King as a Death Knight, to serve in his Scourge Army and take over Azeroth. 

It had only been 6 months since the Lich King was finally defeated which had given her back her own free will.  Others, stronger than her, had broken free much sooner.  She was broken and weak.  Once free, she found she had began to grow stronger, but still felt worthless – the Light was gone.  She had no echo of it, and its hollow absence ached like nothing she had ever felt.  

Now she watched the crowds laughing and playing with magical toys and gadgets, using potions which altered their appearance, laid flowers on graves around them.  She wondered if her sister would be laying flowers on her grave – if she even had one.  She hadn’t the strength to seek out Zyda, and now it all seemed far too late.  She only hoped that Zyda would be too sore about her family’s actions to return home as well today.  She remembered Zyda as focused and driven in her priestly studies, but had no knowledge of her life now. 

Lylawe adjusted her helm and moved in the shadows of the ruins toward the Orb of Translocation, which would teleport her into Silvermoon, the Sin’Dorei capital in Eversong Woods.  It would be her short cut home.  When her eyes laid upon it, she froze.  It looked so foreign and yet so familiar.  It stuck out like a sore thumb within the ruins – its bright red and gold pedestal and the deep red orb glowing in the moonlight.  She heard voices behind her and side stepped out the way of the door, keeping her eyes on the orb as two Sin’Dorei women wearing orange carnation wreaths on their heads sauntered to the orb, laid their hands on it and disappeared in a flash of gold.  

Lylawe moved around the edge of the courtyard toward the orb, feeling more comfortable in the shadows of the ruins, and paused before stepping up to the pedestal.  What if the Silvermoon guard attacked her on sight – she was Scourge.  No.  She was a warrior of the Horde now.  She’d proven her loyalty, paid for her sins in battle against scourge, demons, the iron horde, and was now considered a great hero – a weapon in the horde’s arsenal.  So why did she still feel so weak? 

Another group of Sin’Dorei entered the courtyard and she instinctively stepped back.  Two couples chatted away to each other, wearing casual garments – no armour – speaking of an event; a party.  

“Salthriel, of course, always throws the best parties.” One of the men drawled, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, perfect posture and long dark hair tied back neatly.  

His partner, a blonde, more tanned woman with a perfectly manicured hand rested on his lifted forearm, answered with a sneer, “Lord Brightwell’s will likely pale in comparison, no matter how many of Silvermoon’s eldest families are in attendance.” 

Had Lylawe’s heart still beat, it would have hammered against her rib cage.  There was bound to be someone she knew there, her family, however fractured, was one of Silvermoon’s eldest, and had mixed with many of the others in days gone by.  

“Can you believe they chose the Fairbreeze Village Inn for their venue?” laughed another of the female elves in the group, “The place is hardly standing, and it’s so close to the scar it reeks of the undead!” The group laughed false, cruel gaffaws, until they each activated the orb of translocation and disappeared from the courtyard, leaving it feeling as lifeless as the rest of the ruins.  

Lylawe began to fret again; she remembered the path from Silvermoon to Tranquillen passing Fairbreeze Village.   She knew no other way, without having to battle through Trolls or scourge.  She thought back to her first return to Orgrimmar and all the citizens throwing rotten vegetables.  Sin’Dorei would be crueller.  Especially the socialites.  

She shook her head, adjusted her helm and straightened herself.  The party would keep them distracted. No one thought that way of the Death Knights anymore.  There were more pressing threats now.  She had her armour to protect her, should she need it.  No one would see her face with her helm on and her horse would carry her quickly passed them.  Before another group had time to stop her, she lurched forward and placed her hand on the orb.  

In a quick gold flash she was in Silvermoon again.  She pulled her hand from the orb as if it had burned her and stepped back against the red wall behind her.  Her black and blue armour was a drastic contrast against the red and gold décor, and she stuck out like the Translocation Orb had done in that courtyard. 

She tightly clenched her fists and made herself move down the stairs and through the rear entrance to Sunfury Spire.  The guards stood on either side of the doorway and didn’t give Lylawe a second glance.  She passed the Regent Lord, Lor’themar Theron.  He looked good, as Lylawe had remembered.  Neither he nor the generals in his company even noticed her presence.  She preferred that.  In fact she got all the way to the Court of the Sun and no one had thrown anything, made any comments or even given her a moments notice.  It calmed her, though she still dreaded passing the party.  

She summoned her death charger mount, lifted herself onto it’s back and it charged off through the streets.  It was a surreal experience for her, having her old life and new life so integrated, and only she seemed to feel out of place or unnatural.  Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad?  

The sight of the dead scar stopped her in her tracks.  She pulled on the reins of the Deathcharger and had it walk slowly to the edge. A group of Farstrider Scouts made short work a small group of scourge making an attempt to get to the city.  The blackened ground was littered with bones, broken weapons… she saw evidence of trampled carriages.  Across the other side, the woods looked no different.  It was obvious, and relieving, that the damage hadn’t spread further than the scar.  

She shook herself again, knowing that her old home would look worse than this and she would need to be prepared for that. Lylawe knew the damage was here, and she’d seen so much more destruction as a result of the Scourge’s attacks on her travels, why was this affecting her so much? 

_“Because it’s home.”_ She answered herself. 

She took another moment then snapped the reins of her charger again, making it run across the scar and around the trees to follow the path south.  She passed the North Sanctum where she had her first guard duty.  This is where her mentor had given her the Crystal Forged Waraxe.  The axe had stayed with her until death, and when Lylawe broke free from Arthas’ control, she sought out the fragments of the axe, amongst the unforgiving ice, snow, and bones of her people, and reforged it.  It would never look the same as it did, but it was familiar enough to remind Lylawe of her origins; of home.    

She rode over the bridge she and Ilthrel had hid under when her parents had caught them sneaking out… Where they’d first kissed.  She felt a ghost of a skipped heartbeat, as if her mind had imagined the sensation that her body could no longer achieve.  It was a dull forgotten pain of heartache. 

There were now more party-goers around and Lylawe hung her head as she passed them, unable to run through the crowd, even if she did skirt around them onto the grass.  Some were obviously going to Fairbreeze Village but others wore orange carnation headdresses or carried carnations in their arms, heading over to the Anchorage or, like Lylawe, to the Ghostlands.  

She eventually strode past the crowd and could set off at a run again, urging the death charger forward and past Fairbreeze as quickly as it could manage.  Across the scar again and the Ghostlands was just ahead.  She didn’t slow the charge.  Her home reflected her life; once full of light and hope, now blackened, dead and ever scarred by undeath. 

The ghost pain in her chest made her tense – Tranquillen was a ruin.  Her home was shambles.  Only two buildings still stood, the space where her home had been was just blue plagued grass and weeds.  A few forsaken were scattered around, and guided Lylawe to where her family would have been laid to rest.  Of course her parents wouldn’t be amongst the dead; they had died in Outland, but there would be empty graves marked with their names.  Her grandparents would be here, her aunts, uncles, cousins, and the extended family would be here.  They’d carry her respects to her parents on the other side.  

Lylawe was the only person there, and it made her so glad she’d decided to come.  She approached the grave site and scanned the stones, struggling now to remember faces, but the memories were still there.  Her eyes then fell upon her own empty grave, between her parents.  Zyda must have set it up.  She was the only other family member left.  

She kneeled before the stones, removing her helm as she did, feeling safer now she was alone.  She rested the heavy helmet to her side and bowed her head as she thought of them.  She silently apologised to their spirits for leaving, for causing so much worry.  She apologised for not being there to protect their home.  She should have stayed instead of leaving on that wild goose chase with their hot-headed Prince.    

She found herself wishing she could cry, but it just wasn’t possible.  Instead she bowed her head low, doubling over and forehead almost touching the ground.  Her now grey-blue hair fell forward and brushed the dirt of the floor.  She was so wrapped up in her grief she hadn’t heard the footsteps behind her. 

“Lyla?” a soft female voice asked, shaking slightly as it did.  

Lylawe’s head whipped around and she fell sideways, eyes wide.  It had been so long since she’d heard her name spoken, and even longer since she’d heard the nickname. 

The elf who’d spoken it instinctively moved to a combat stance at the sudden movement but looked Lylawe up and down with emerald eyes then smiled slightly and relaxed.  

“Il… Ilthrel.” Whispered Lylawe, frozen in her spot on the dusty ground.  Her own voice shook now too, it was so rarely used, the echo of undeath that rang with her words was still foreign to her.  

Ilthrel looked no different.  Her chestnut brown hair was always in messy pigtails, which bounced when she ran.  Her skin was aglow with the blessing of Holy Light within her, such a stark contrast to what was left of Lylawe.  She looked so radiant, wearing dress robes of white and gold.  

“It is not like you to wear a helmet, but I would recognise that axe of yours anywhere.  Even… even now.” Ilthrel moved forward to offer her hand, “It’s been a long time.” 

It was a lifetime ago that she and Ilthrel had been… everything to one another.  Lylawe eyed the outstretched hand, still frozen.  She slowly reached out but recoiled as she felt the heat of Ilthrel’s hand.  Ilthrel pulled back at the second sudden move, looking hurt, but only for a moment. 

“I saw you running past Fairbreeze,” she began to explain, “my parents pulled me out of Draenor for that party and were trying to set me up again.  When I saw the _male_ suiter standing with a bunch of Snow Lilies we had a fight and I ran out and I thought I was imaging things when I saw you with that axe on your back, but here you are.” She made a move forward again but quickly shifted her weight onto her back foot.  “Lyla… It’s been… so hard without you.” 

Lylawe moved to stand, slowly, never taking her eyes off Ilthrel, “I… I cannot begin…” each time her voice echoed in the wind it made her stop.  She wanted nothing more than to fall into Ilthrel’s arms and for everything to be as it had been.  

Her voice shook, and she spoke slowly, fighting every urge to turn and run, “Lady Ilthrel. Where do I begin to apologise for all I have done?”  She saw the pain in Ilthrel’s eyes and tears beginning to form.  She hung her head and knelt again, “I feel nothing but emptiness and regret, I should never have left.  I shouldn’t have been so proud, or blind.  I should have stayed by your side, by my sister’s side.  I should have been here to protect our home.” She paused, closing her eyes tight and gathering any strength she had left in her; “Could you ever forgive me, Ellie?” 

Ilthrel practiced no hesitation as she moved toward Lylawe and joined her, kneeling on the ground, wrapping her arms around the wide plate shoulderguards, and resting her face in the crook of her neck, “I forgave you years ago, Lyla.  As soon as we heard you had perished, I forgave you.  And I have missed you every moment since you left.”   

Lylawe was stunned to silence again, and it took a moment for the words to fully sink in; she was so sure she’d imagined them.  Ilthrel squeezed her tightly and Lylawe’s arms found their way around her, laying her head on her shoulder and closing her eyes.  The pain of emptiness in her chest lifted in the embrace and a cold tear rolled down the Death Knight’s grey cheek. 

**Author's Note:**

> Lylawe is an active character of mine on Argent Dawn EU should any of you be interested in roleplaying!
> 
> Thanks to my good friend Clive who played the part of Ilthrel in an in-game RP that inspired this story.


End file.
